


When It Gets Too Much (Don't Keep Quiet)

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gang Rape, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Megatronus is a Badaft, Other, Poor Orion, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Revenge, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sexual Violence, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13603374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A companion fic for PurrV's Keep Quiet; basically what I wished had happened because I am the most hopeless of romantics and I also like doing mean things to my characters.





	When It Gets Too Much (Don't Keep Quiet)

“Excuse me,” he said.  He never said ‘excuse me’, and if he did it certainly wasn’t in the deferential tone he just used, but Orion has pleaded with him too many times to count not to cause disturbances in the Hall of Records, and despite the impression he liked to convey, he did care about what Orion wanted.  “Will you tell me where I may find Orion Pax?”

The green librarian looked him up and down, distaste growing on his faceplates and radiating out of his otherwise controlled EM field.  “You are several castes lower than he is,” he said finally.  “What would you want with him?”

“He is my friend,” Megatronus said, struggling hard to keep the sudden anger that leapt in him in check.  The librarian still flinched as the sudden emotion in Megatronus’ field struck him, and the gladiator cursed inwardly and tried to pull it in.  He would never get used to the Iaconian habit of keeping their fields tucked away.  Orion had tried to explain, said something about  _ politeness  _ and  _ consideration of others,  _ but Megatronus had found it hard to comprehend.  In the Pit, an EM field was as much of a weapon as the cannon he wore on his arm, and keeping it reined in was a conscious effort that seemed both unnecessary and an unwanted taxation of his strength.

The green and red mech before him shuttered his optics, made a disdainful noise in his throat, and stepped away from Megatronus.  “If you cannot control yourself, you will be asked to leave,” he said.

“I apologize,” Megatronus grated out-- and it  _ was  _ an effort, but he comforted himself with the thought of how pleased Orion would be that he didn’t get himself thrown out of the Hall this time around.  “Where is Orion Pax, so that I might not  _ bother  _ you anymore?”

The mech grunted.   __ “He’s been gone from his shift nearly all day.  I don’t know where he is now.”

“Gone?” Megatronus repeated.  “Orion’s been--”

“Quiet!” the librarian snapped.  “Primus, if it wasn’t enough that we had those rowdy Academy bots in the morning, now we have  _ gladiators--” _

“Stop!” Megatronus snarled.  The suspicion growing inside him allowed him to ignore the scoff of offended disbelief the higher-ranked mech gave him.  “Was it Orion’s job to tell them to be quiet?”  He knew it had been-- his friend had complained about the job enough times, but he had to be sure.  “Was it?!”

“I think you need to leave,” the green mech said angrily, and Megatronus realized that he had been letting his field run out unchecked.  He hastily pulled it back in.

“No, no, listen,” he said urgently, trying to lower his voice.  “I think Orion may be in trouble-- he wouldn’t leave his shift, he’s not like that--”

“I hardly think  _ you  _ would know,” the librarian sneered, but now he looked unsure.

“He is my  _ friend,”  _ Megatronus growled.  He took a step toward the librarian, and the mech flinched.  “I’m going to go find him.”

He left the green and red bot where he stood and wheeled off to walk through the Hall.  The suspicion inside him, he hoped, was unfounded, and yet he could not stop himself from fearing the worst.

Academy bots.  That meant high-class mecha, ranked above Megatronus  _ and  _ Orion.  They were also, for the most part, arrogant, vengeful, and overly eager to show any mech they deemed rising above their allotted station “their place”.  Megatronus himself had been confronted by a group of them once before, outside the arena.  He had been able to intimidate them enough that they eventually let him alone-- not one of them came higher than his shoulder plating, and he was sure that after seeing him destroy his opponent in the Pit, they were not overly eager to engage him.

But Orion. . .

If a normal Academy bot did not reach Megatronus’ shoulder plating, Orion did not reach theirs.  He was hardly a gladiator.  And no matter how many self-defense techniques Megatronus had attempted to teach him, Orion had never really learned them.

Megatronus picked up speed, brushing past stacks of datapads, ignoring the urge to point out his poems to Orion, as he normally did when his friend was here with him.  Orion  _ wasn’t  _ here, and Megatronus didn’t believe for one nanoklik that he had simply left his shift.

_ A librarian, a low-class Iaconian, telling high-ranked Academy bots to be quiet?   _ He grimaced, worry pulsing in his spark.   _ Orion, you stupid, dedicated-- _

There was a noise.  Small, far-off, and relatively quiet, and it lasted only an instant before it was cut off.  Any other mech would have brushed it off, ignored it.  But Megatronus recognized both the nature of the sound and the voice which had made it.

It was a scream.

A scream of pain.

It was Orion’s voice and it was a scream of pain.

Megatronus tensed, his servos balling into fists.  All of his fears flashed instantaneously in his mind.  

_ Please, no,  _ he thought.   _ Not that.  Not Orion. _

With a snarl, he began running toward the area of the Hall in which the noise had emanated from.  As he drew closer, he noticed several things, and each made his spark fold deeper inside himself with panic.  The cameras were turned away.  One of the lights was out.  There were no mecha milling around; this corner of the Hall was practically deserted.

Now Megatronus could hear voices, fast and hushed, speaking in tones that radiated vicious cruelty.  He could not make out any words, but as he got closer, another sick realization exploded in his spark.

The scream had not been cut off, only muffled.

He could hear it now, choked and broken and jumping with sobs.

But stifled.

_ No!   _ Megatronus thought, fear and panic blurring together and choking him.   _ I have to find him, I have to find Orion-- _

He came around a corner and stopped dead still, horror and shock exploding in him.   For a fraction of a nanokilk, he simply stood frozen, not wanting to believe the thing happening in front of him, and yet taking it in altogether too well.  Orion was pinned to the ground by three brightly painted Academy bots.  One was forcing his arm down, one pressed a servo over his mouth, and the third was thrusting his spike into Orion’s valve with hard, careless, and brutal force.  

And Orion was crying.

Orion was hurting.

They were hurting Orion.

His Orion.

Megatronus felt his optics switch abruptly from civilian-blue to gladiator-red, and he lunged forward with a savage roar.  He tackled the third mech, sending him tumbling off of Orion with such force that his helm cracked on the hard floor and he collapsed, limp, without even a shout.  Megatronus turned on the other two, who were getting up with alarm on their faces as they realized they were being attacked.  Speed, speed was essential here.  Megatronus let his rage explode and drive him, as he leapt forward and swung first his fist and then the edge of his blade into the help of the one who had been stifling Orion’s cries of pain.  The mech staggered and fell, and Megatronus drove his blade through his thigh plating and into the floor.  The bot opened his mouth to scream, but Megatronus slammed his servo down on his mouth with such force that his faceplating cracked.  The mech’s optics flashed white with agony and then offlined as he went limp.

The last bot turned to run, and Megatronus grabbed his pede and flung him to the ground.  The mech landed on his back, his showy, flimsy armor sparking and screeching on the floor.  Megatronus kicked him brutally, twice, and as the bot tried to struggle to his feet, struck him across the helm with a closed fist.  He fell to the ground beside his compatriots.

When Megatronus was sure that none of them were going to be getting up anytime soon, he turned to find Orion.

Kneeling down next to the smaller bot, he ran his servos over Orion’s frame, trying to determine where and how much he had been damaged.  Orion clung to him, venting quickly and shallowly, holding on to Megatronus like a lifeline.

“Are you. . . are you. . .” Megatronus stammered helplessly, switching his optics to civilian-blue as he pulled back to look at Orion’s face.  His friend’s faceplates were dented, and his optics brimmed with cleansing fluid, but he managed a weak smile-- one that quickly trembled and collapsed as Megatronus’ servos reached his interface array.  The panel was tightly shut, but Megatronus could feel the gritty texture of Energon coating Orion’s inner thighs, mixed with the cold, slimy feel of transfluid.  He removed his hands.

“I’m taking you home,” he said roughly, trying to hide his anger and hatred for the bots who had done this.  Revenge would not help Orion.  There would be time for that.  Plenty of time.

As he stood, holding Orion as gently as he could, he looked down at the three limp Academy bots and noted their identification numbers, highlighting them in his memory files.  Then he left them there, lying unconscious in the library.  Let them explain what it was they had been doing.

Carrying Orion was not hard.  He had lifted heavier things, much heavier things, during his vorns in the slave mines.  It was the other weight that pressed on him as he walked through the glittering streets of Iacon, holding the battered little archivist.  First, the guilt.  It was hardly logical, any way he looked at it, but he could not help the crushing feeling that if he had  _ been there,  _ if he had been able to  _ protect  _ Orion-- but he knew it would not have been possible for him to leave Kaon any earlier than he had.  He was incredibly lucky to have gotten to the Hall in time to help Orion even as much as he had.  But the guilt did not listen to his logic, and he could not help berating himself with every whimper of discomfort Orion made.

The second weight was the anger.  Anger that simmered and boiled within him until he felt his spark would crack under the pressure.  Anger not only at the Academy bots that had done this. . . this horrible thing, but at the caste system that had given them an excuse to do it.  If they had not considered themselves  _ better  _ than Orion simply because of the size of their insignias and the placements of them, perhaps they would not have felt so free to take their revenge against him.  Revenge for wounded pride and a misplaced sense of superiority.  Revenge against Orion, who had done nothing wrong!

Megatronus snarled aloud, and mecha on every side of him flinched.  He strode on, ignoring the nervous looks directed at him.  It was obvious, so obvious, that Orion had been attacked, and it was equally obvious that every mech that saw the two of them assumed that Megatronus had done it.  He was only fortunate that Orion’s insignia was concealed as he held him close to his chest, or there would most definitely have been questions, pointed, accusing questions, about how the higher-ranked bot had been injured.  As it was, Megatronus walked on with a scowl on his faceplates so forbidding that no one interfered.  

Thankfully, Orion’s apartments were not far from the Hall, and knowing how he often forgot to lock the access doors, Megatronus went inside.  He pushed aside a stack of datapads from the berth Orion had set up in the middle of his room for reading, and gently laid the archivist down atop it.  Orion seemed to stifle another whimper of pain as he rested his helm against the wall.

Now that neither protection or anger were priorities, Megatronus felt helplessness begin to creep back into him again.  He forced himself to focus and assess what needed to be done.  

“I’m calling Ratchet,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and anger-free.  The last thing he wanted was for Orion to think that the anger was directed at  _ him.   _ “Please, Orion, try not to move.  I don’t know how damaged you are, and I don’t want Ratchet to. . .”

_ To think I hurt you. _

_ To accuse me of hurting you. _

_ To blame me for letting this happen. _

“. . . to get angry because I made something worse,” he finished.  

Orion simply nodded, and as Megatronus left the room, he could hear the faint whirr of his friend’s optics offlining.

He dialed in the code for Ratchet’s personal emergency line on the communicator that Orion kept.  The medic’s voice leapt online in a blaze of static, angry and nervous and rushed.

_ “Orion, what is wrong?” _

“It is Megatronus,” Megatronus said.

There was a brief huff on the other end.   _ “Why did you not use your own communicator, Megatronus?  I am busy here--” _

“Orion was attacked,” Megatronus snarled.  “In the Hall.  Three Academy mecha.”

There was silence on the other line, broken only by static.  Megatronus clenched the hand that wasn’t holding the comm into a hard fist, trying to vent evenly.

_ “Attacked in what manner?”   _ Ratchet said finally, and the irritation in his voice gave way to worry.  

“He was raped,” Megatronus said bluntly.  “I was able to find him and intervene, but I do not know the extent of his injuries, or what. . . what damage he may have suffered.”

There was a heavy ex-vent, and a pause.   _ “I cannot come for several joors, Megatronus,”  _ Ratchet said ruefully.   _ “Is he in pain?” _

“I think so.”

_ “Then you must give him a depressant of sorts.  I left a compartment of medical supplies in his apartments in case of. . . I left him a compartment.  Do you see it?” _

Megatronus turned and glanced at it.  “Yes.”

_ “There is a small supply of what you must inject inside of it.  It will slow his repair nanites, but it will also dull his neural net so that the pain will not be very present, at least until I can come and fix him.”   _ Ratchet paused, and his unsure silence spoke volumes.   _ ”The solution is black, and it is already in a syringe.” _

“Understood,” Megatronus said impatiently.  “What. . . what should I do with him while you are not here?”

Ratchet’s voice huffed again, but now he sounded more saddened than annoyed.   _ “He has indeed suffered damage, Megatronus, and the worst of it I will not be able to repair.  You are the one who must help him.” _

“What do you mean?” Megatronus demanded.

_ “I mean,”  _ Ratchet snapped,  _ “that he is hurt in more ways than the physical, you scrap-afted gladiator, and as his  _ friend--” Megatronus leaned away from the communicator as the doctor’s voice rose--  _ “it is your job to help him!  Don’t make him feel like he is alone!  Has he cried at all?” _

“No,” Megatronus said, his mind a confused blank.

_ “Well, for Primus’ sake-- let him cry, Megatronus!  He’s trying to bottle it in, and it’s not healthy!” _

“What do you expect  _ me  _ to do?!” Megatronus growled, the helpless feeling coming back on him in sickening waves.  

Ratchet ex-vented again, but when he spoke, his voice was melancholy.   _ “I don’t know, Megatronus.  You must do as you see fit.”   _ There was a pause, a pause that ached with unspoken regrets, and when the doctor spoke again, it was in a whisper.   _ “Primus. . . Orion didn’t deserve this.” _

Megatronus clenched his dentae together, feeling the familiar thrumming of anger in his spark.  “No,” he said, more to himself than Ratchet.  “He didn’t.”

He closed the connection.

When he entered the main room again, holding the syringe in a servo, Orion was lying on his back on the berth, one arm held over his face.  He did not move, only lay there, stiffly and despairingly still.

“Orion,” Megatronus said, sitting next to him, and inwardly cursed as his friend startled and removed the arm from his faceplates in an almost guilty motion.

“I have spoken to Ratchet,” he continued, attempting to be quieter as Orion sat up, onlined his optics, and watched him, “and he wants me to give you this.”  He held up the syringe.  “He will come in. . . in a few joors.”

Orion shuttered his optics, looking down, and held out his arm wordlessly.  

Megatronus injected the solution into his friend’s Energon line, and Orion’s frame visibly relaxed within nanokliks.  Seeing the pain leave Orion’s face, Megatronus relaxed as well.  He would be all right.  Orion would be all right.

But then Orion’s faceplates spasmed, and cleansing fluid leapt into his optics.  With a sob, he leaned to the side and let his helm fall against Megatronus’ chestplating.

Megatronus heard Ratchet’s voice again in his memory--  _ he is hurt in more ways than the physical--  _ and put his hands on Orion’s frame, holding him close.  Orion, the tense misery in his field lessening in an instant, pressed his faceplates against Megatronus and clung to him.

They sat like that for a few kilks, venting together, their sparks beating together.

And finally, painfully, Orion began to cry.

Megatronus held him.  This did not involve fighting, did not involve anger, and offered no chance for revenge, but the helplessness stayed away.  He knew what to do.  His spark ached for Orion, but he comforted him, stroked his backstruts, and wrapped his arms around the archivist’s frame protectively.  Orion shook and trembled with the crying, hiding his face in Megatronus’ armor.  Megatronus could feel the phantom traces of cleansing fluid dripping down his chestplates, but he ignored it.

Another mech might have said, “It’s okay.”  Another mech might have tried to soothe Orion with comforting words.  But even with all the speeches and writing Megatronus had done in his life, he knew the power of words was useless in this moment, and all that remained was his silence.  And the silence comforted Orion more than any words he could have spoken.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, holding on to each other.  He only knew that time passed, and the shuddering of Orion’s frame slowly stopped, and the quick, painful venting slowly collapsed into even vents, and the trickle of cleansing fluid on Megatronus’ armor stopped.

And Orion spoke.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, not looking up from Megatronus’ chest.  “Megatronus. . . I. . .” His vents hitched, and his fingers clutched at the gladiator’s armor.  “Thank you.”

Megatronus shuttered his optics and muttered, “I would rather fight Unicron himself than allow you to come to harm again, Orion.  The mecha who attacked you. . .”  He trailed off, not trusting himself to finish the sentence.

“Did you kill them?”  Orion’s voice was worried, and yet Megatronus detected a tiny wisp of hope that darted out of the archivist’s EM field before he reined it in.

“I should have,” he said grimly, more to himself than Orion.

There was a burst of self-reproach from Orion’s otherwise controlled field, and his friend pushed himself up to look Megatronus in the optics.  “No, you shouldn’t have!  Do you know what would  _ happen  _ to you if you killed high-ranking mecha like those?”

“It would be worth it.”

“No!  No, it wouldn’t!  The Cause, Megatronus, it would die with you, and it would have been all because of  _ me--” _

“Orion!”  Megatronus interrupted.   _ “That  _ is what we are striving to change-- the idea that such a thing is the fault of the  _ victim  _ because of the-- the importance of the attacker!  You were-- you were-- No one deserves to have what happened to you happen to them, and  _ nothing  _ that results from that is your fault!”

Orion pulled back and looked his friend in the face.  “I’m not going to argue that that isn’t. . . isn’t true, but you need to promise me that you will not kill any mech on my behalf, Megatronus.  Please,” he added, and Megatronus knew that the flash of disbelief he was feeling was radiating out through his EM field.  “I know you will not allow me to say I’m not worth it--”

“Because it’s not true,” Megatronus growled.

“I-- I am  _ not worth it,  _ Megatronus.  Revenge is not worth what will happen to you!  Please.  I. . . I am afraid for you.”  The archivist hesitated, glancing down at his own small frame.  “You are so powerful, so. . . unbeatable, and to see you brought down like. . . like some beast by the whims of the caste system. . . for  _ me,  _ to avenge something that happened to  _ me. . .” _

Megatronus felt the flickers of hopeless frustration Orion was feeling through the data clerk’s field, and ex-vented.  “So I must not avenge you in order to protect  _ myself?” _

“And the Cause,” Orion added.  “Would that not be a better revenge?  To destroy the caste system so thoroughly that the. . . the mecha who did this will have no excuse to do such a thing ever again?”

Megatronus was silent for a moment, considering his friend’s words.  The Cause.  So-- so-- the question was not what what he would do as a gladiator, but what he  _ could  _ do as a revolutionary.

“Yes, Orion,” he said finally.  “We will do that, then.  Together.”

Orion smiled at him then, a smile of relief and tired gratitude.  Then he ex-vented, and leaned his helm on Megatronus again.

“You rescued me,” he said.

Megatronus shuttered his optics.  “You should recharge.”

There was a soft  _ whine  _ as Orion’s systems began the powerdown sequence-- apparently, he needed no convincing.  But he kept talking.  “Everything was. . . was pain.  I begged Primus to kill me . . . death would be better, I thought . . . and then . . . you.  You. . .” He vented, clasping Megatronus’ armor.  “I thought it was some avenging spirit sent by. . .” His vocalizer slurred over the word “Primus”, and Megatronus smiled faintly.  “But. . . it was better.  It was. . . it was  _ you.”   _ Orion offlined his optics.  “It was you. . .”

______________________________________________

 

The archivist was still in recharge when Ratchet came, and stayed that way during all the repairs the doctor performed.  Megatronus was thankful.

Ratchet, on the other hand. . . Ratchet was  _ angry. _

He made the repairs with a steady hand, but his set face and occasional burst of muttered words did not escape Megatronus.  The doctor was one of Orion’s closer friends, and Megatronus could see that the thirst for revenge burned as fiercely inside Ratchet’s spark as his own.  

And it was then that the seeds of an idea began to take root.

“Ratchet,” he said tentatively, approaching the doctor.  The orange and white mech’s hands had been steadily slowing in their work over Orion’s frame, and Megatronus assumed the repairs were nearly done.

“What?” Ratchet snapped.

“The mecha who did this are injured.  They will need repairs.”  He paused.  “And I have their identification numbers.”

Ratchet’s optics narrowed.  For a long moment, he said nothing.  Megatronus stood and waited, carefully not glancing at Orion’s recharging frame.

Finally, Ratchet said, “Academy bots?”

“They are.”

Ratchet scoffed.  “Well, Megatronus, if you will give me their identification numbers, I promise to deal with them. . . personally.”

Megatronus transmitted the file.  “How?”

The medic glanced back at Orion.  Instead of answering immediately, he muttered, “His port was nearly ripped apart, Megatronus.  I think. . . I think they have done enough interfacing for one lifetime.  If they come in, they will leave with their panels welded shut.”

Hot satisfaction pulsed in Megatronus’ spark, but he kept his expression neutral.  “Will you not find yourself in danger for doing this to high-ranking mecha?”

Ratchet paused at the door.  He looked at the doctor’s insignia on his arm, and then back to Megatronus.  “I think you’ll find morality is considered the same between the castes.  They did. . .  _ this  _ to Orion without fear because they are  _ above  _ him.”  He chuckled darkly.  “Well, I am above  _ them.   _ They cannot do anything to me.”

Megatronus nodded briefly.  He watched as Ratchet left, and if he wondered at all about the ethics of what they were doing, the thoughts were drowned out by the memory of Orion’s screams.

**Author's Note:**

> I will answer comments as "Q" if you have any questions.


End file.
